Malachor V: Final Words
by Jabberwalk
Summary: A short vignette I wrote years ago.  A final exchange between master and apprentice, and a choice the consequences of which are lost to history.


**So. This is REALLY old. I was about 12 or 13 when wrote this, during my KOTOR obsession, and I only recently rediscovered it languishing on the old KOTOR Fan Media Site and decided to repost it here. I'm quite fond of it, and since I started replaying the game a few days ago, I'm feeling very nostalgic. What a difference six years makes.  
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**Malachor V: Trayus Core**

A single tear was all it took to convince the dying woman that she had done what was needed. The bright ember of flickering power that was the presence beside her convinced her of that. That presence whose tears were being shed for someone who had manipulated her, lied to her, and nearly smothered the spark of hope that had rekindled her spirit, her purpose.

Yet the dying woman did not regret any of it. She had done her best, and now she reaped what she had sewn. The Exile: her greatest triumph, her greatest failure; Darth Traya's final apprentice and the one who had defied her most.

"The bond is broken, Exile. And yet you still weep? Not for this old woman, I hope. She has played her part, and now you must play yours. And yours is an important role in this great performance."

The Exile bowed her head, ignoring the salty tear-drops that fell from beneath her eyelids and landed on her dying Master's face.

"And if I choose not to play the role?"

"My dearest Exile, you have no choice. And you and I both know that you will not take the path of the coward. For if there is anything you are not, it is a coward."

"Or maybe I'm just crazy," the Exile muttered bitterly. "What am I supposed to do?"

"It is your choice. I had hoped you would follow Revan's path, but you and Revan are... different, and your path is your own."

Different, and yet so much alike, the two of them were. Revan, the pinnacle of power and control, and the Exile, the one with the power to either restore or destroy everything that trillions of beings had worked thousands of years to build. She and Revan, whatever the future held, were destined to be greater than any before them, whether history remembered them or not.

"You may take one of the ships that orbit Malachor and depart this place. Or you may remain here on Malachor, and wait for the others, those touched by the Force, who will come in time."

The last, the lost Jedi. The Exile's pride, the five men and women whose destinies were forever intertwined for good or ill, and the only true Jedi remaining in this tortured galaxy. Such wounds they all carried, wounded by the past, the present; by the Exile herself. And yet from wounds came the healing, the Exile's, as well as their own. She cared for them above all else, put them all first without even considering the harm she would do herself. She would never admit to that. Nor would she ever admit how much she loved them. How strange this woman was, so delicate, yet so unwilling to show it, so unable to get past it. How like her master she was.

The master spoke, "Or you may return to your exile, where your presence will no longer affect the actions of others."

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew that this was not a choice the Exile would accept. She had come to know her apprentice more than she believed she knew herself, and she knew that the Exile would never abandon her companions, or the republic she had sworn to protect when she had first become a Jedi. The Exile was no longer a Jedi of the Council, but she still held to the oath she had made all those years ago. And she would hold to it until the end.

"There is no dishonor in any of these choices... I only ask that you make the choice without regret."

And there was the heart of the matter. The dying woman knew only too well how much regret the Exile already carried with her. She suspected that anymore would destroy her. She knew it would.

A small smile graced the Exile's lips.

"No, Kreia. There was only ever one choice."

Ah . . .

"So you will follow?"

"As I did ten years ago."


End file.
